


Letters

by alwayssomethingelse



Category: Holby City
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Follow on to the Kill List, Older lesbians, episode follow on, older bi women, talking and fluff and eventually smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayssomethingelse/pseuds/alwayssomethingelse
Summary: A follow on to the end of The Kill List...It wasn't that Bernie didn't reply to Serena. It's just that she was too overwhelmed and scared to actually send her responses...





	1. i

“Ignore him” Serena growls into Bernie’s mouth. Nothing is going to stop this kiss. Not now. Not after she’s waited _weeks_ to taste Bernie again, unsure if she ever would. She’s vaguely aware of a hand missing from her body, but on some level comprehends when she hears the rattle of the blinds over the sound of their lips and sighs. She doesn’t know which bit of Bernie she wants to hold closest, to never let go of – her face? Her beautiful, tormented, _perfect_ face, the image of which has rarely left Serena these last fifty-six days? Her fingers move to caress that jawline, those cheekbones, the tendrils of Bernie’s fringe that keep covering her eyes just when Serena wants to see them most. Or her shoulders, so evocative and supple, their movement enough to stir thoughts in Serena that no other lover ever did at work. One hand slides down, stretching along Bernie’s neck, index finger landing in the groove of her collarbone, tugging at the cotton scrubs that deny further access. Or her torso, equally expressive when she wants it to be – and a part of Bernie that Serena has imagined – more than once – in significantly less clothing… The other hand falls to Bernie’s hip, usual dexterity somehow lost as she fumbles with the fabric between her and the skin she longs to touch. 

Repeated knocking gives them pause. 

“Auntie Serena! Auntie Serena, I’ve found the key! And it’s a good thing, because Mr Griffin has come down to visit you and Dr Bernie.”

“Bloody Ric!” Serena murmurs, loosening her grasp. Her voice trembles.

Bernie steps away, chest rising and falling, fighting to catch her breath. Flicks her fringe back, only for it to fall across her eyes again. Backs up another couple of steps, and collapses into her chair. 

“Alright Jason.” Serena fights to keep her voice steady. She leans back on the filing cabinet, assuming the nearest she can manage to nonchalance. Not that Ric will be fooled for a minute, she’s certain. 

The door opens, and into the semi light of the room steps their temporary boss, a smile playing about his lips. 

“Ladies.” He nods to Serena. “Not…interrupting anything, am I?”

“N…not at all.” She tries for blasé, fails miserably. Can feel herself colour. 

“Er, Ric.” Bernie doesn’t sound much better, but there’s a steely determination underpinning her tone, that causes him to glance to her; Serena breathes a quiet sigh of relief. “About….about what I said. Before. Please, um. Please ignore it. Pretend it never happened.”

“Good, well. That makes my visit fairly redundant then.” He glances again at Serena, a knowing twinkle echoing the dimple of his grin. “I had been coming to…ah, check a few things. But, least said, soonest mended.” He looks back to Bernie. “May I assume your first day back has improved, then?”

Bernie flushes, but it’s a rosy glow, Serena notices; one of pleasure, not anger. 

“Right, well. It’s nearly time for me to knock off. Will I see you both in Albie’s tonight?”

Serena catches Bernie’s querying eye, relieved to take in the slightest shake of her head. “I… We’ll see. There’s…a lot of handing over to do, you know.”

“Of course. Well. See you tomorrow, if not later, then.” He turns on his heel, passing Jason and Fletch, like some guard of honour, waiting outside. Serena later swears she saw a shadow of a wink flicker across Ric’s eye; but perhaps it was the light. 

“Well…come in you pair.” She crosses her arms and tries to look stern. 

Fletch has the grace to look a little sheepish. Jason, on the other hand, has the biggest grin she’s seen, at least since she bought him that boxset of _Mary Beard_. Serena raises her eyebrow at them, and waits.

“I…”

“You’ll never guess where the key was Auntie Serena!” Jason doesn’t give her a chance to do so. “Somehow, _I_ don’t know how, it had fallen into my sling! Isn’t that funny.” He beams at them both. “Are you going to be a couple now then?” 

Serena catches Fletch’s eye and flicks her head at the door. He shuts it, leaning back against it. 

“Right you two. I don’t know what game you thought you were playing…”

“I wasn’t playing a game Auntie Serena, I…” Jason halts as Serena holds up a hand.

“Sorry Jason, I worded that wrongly. But whatever it was that the two of you came up with, well. I…” The memory of Bernie’s tongue against hers steals the words from her lips.

“I…I think what Ms Campbell means to say…” Bernie leaps into the breach “…is…is… It was very irresponsible, even though it was well meaning. Yes?” She glances at Serena, who nods. “And we would rather you didn’t do anything like that again, ok?”

“Ok.” Jason looks momentarily downcast, before his eyes brighten. “But are you going to be a couple?” 

This time, it is Bernie whose words fail. She looks quite comic, Serena thinks, as Bernie darts a glance over to her, her lips opening and closing, like a fish out of water. But of course, that’s exactly what she is in this situation.

“I…think…that you will just have to wait and see. And, Nurse Fletcher?” It gives Serena some small pleasure to see him stand to attention. “If I find a word of this has reached _anyone_ outside of this room…”

“I know, I know, you’ll flay me alive, have my guts for garters, and string the remains up as a warning to all.” He grins. “I won’t say a word. And neither will Jason, will you mate?” Fletch elbows Jason’s good arm, albeit lightly. “Remember what I was saying before…”

“That people don’t like being talked about, or having their love lives discussed in front of other people? Yes. I will remember.” Jason looks at Serena. “I’m sorry if I annoyed you Auntie Serena.”

She can feel her heart surge with a warmth for this dear, awkward boy, who means so well, even if his execution is less than predictable… 

“You haven’t, Jason. Not at all. Now. I think it might be time to go home in about five minutes. You’ve had a hard day of it, after all, and you need to rest up that arm. Why don’t you get Fletch to do your final obs, and discharge you, and I’ll be ready by the time he’s done?” 

Jason nods. “Okay.”

Serena shuts the door behind them, before moving to perch on Bernie’s desk. 

“Well handled.” Bernie grins up at her, that strange shyness still lingering in those dark eyes. 

“It’s a fine balance, reading Jason the riot act… and I don’t want to encourage him taking things into his own hands, but…”

“…Yes.” They sit in silence, smiling. 

Serena reaches a hand down, takes Bernie’s fingers. “I… think we have a lot more to…talk…about, though. And Jason won’t be quelled that easily. Would…would you…like… I mean. Dinner? With us?”

“Tonight?” She sounds a little shocked. 

“I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t finished, before we were…interrupted. And we can open that _gift_ of yours…”

Bernie colours. “It’s…it’s rubbish, really. I mean. I. Well.” She stares helplessly up at Serena, struggles to draw breath, clears her throat, starts again. “I. I don’t know why I thought it would do. Because nothing would do. Really. Nothing I could buy. And I didn’t know… I didn’t know how else to say…what I wanted to say…and then, when I saw you…I…knew that it was…as inadequate as, as…my silence. That’s…that’s why I binned it.”

“Charming. First she runs off to Ukraine, then she buys me rubbish wine to say sorry!” But Serena is laughing, and she squeezes Bernie’s hand, lest any seriousness be taken from her words. Not that it’s how she’d deal with the situation. But then, she isn’t Bernie Wolfe. 

“I… I’d like that. To have dinner with you and Jason. I’m really…very fond of him, you know?”

“Even when he speaks without thinking?” 

“Even then…perhaps especially then. It can be…hard…but I…understand his confusion. But, Serena…?”

“Yes?”

“I’d… There’s… I have something. At home. I’d like to call by and get it. For you.”

“Bernie, you don’t have to bring anything…” _Well, except yourself_ , Serena thinks wryly. 

“I want to.” Her voice is quiet and firm, and when Bernie meets her gaze with half closed eyes Serena sees a look of determination that, while not exactly _new_ , per se, she’s only seen grace Bernie’s face in theatre, previously. 

“Besides… Perhaps it would be better if we _didn’t_ leave together? If… I mean, if you don’t want half the hospital…”

“Yes, well. They’ll no doubt have come up with twenty stories before we’ve even left the building. But I’m counting on Fletch to shut down any he hears, on pain of…”

“…having his head mounted on a pole?”

“Something like that.” Serena gets up, only letting go of the hand in her own when their arms are stretched to full distance. “Fair enough. You get what you need, and we’ll see you there.” She turns back, her arm full of coat. “Is Spag Bol okay? That’s our normal Monday meal, and you know how Jason is about his routine…”

“Sounds perfect.” The low timbre of Bernie’s voice sets Serena’s heart beating double time all over again. “Well. I’ll be along shortly.”

The door opens to reveal Jason, clutching the rescued gift once more. 

“Aren’t you ready? You said five minutes and it’s been fourteen.” He looks accusingly at Serena. “Which of you should I give this to?”

Serena glances back at Bernie, eyes dancing. “Shall I put it to air?”

“You do that.” Bernie bites at her lower lip, unable to contain her grin. 

“Right then Mr Walking Wounded, let’s hit the road.”

“But I don’t want to hit the road, I’ve already been hit by a trolley today, and that was painful enough…. Ohhh. It’s a figure of speech, isn’t it?”

“Yes Jason. Come on.” Serena bustles him out of the office, turning one last time to cast her eyes over Bernie. Conscious of the eyes of half the ward, she simply nods her head and smiles. “See you…”


	2. ii

Bernie pays the taxi, and jumps out. It was bloody typical that her car battery would die while she was in Ukraine; even more typical that the garage had said it would take a couple of days to get the genuine replacement. She clutches a small package to her chest as she hurries up the path to Serena’s front door. Pauses, when there. Breathes. She can do this. She can be the person she wants to be. She left the old Bernie in Kyiv, she reminds herself sternly. _No turning back now._ She rings the doorbell in that moment of determination.

Bare moments pass before the door is thrown open wide. Serena stands before her, resplendent in a rich crimson cardigan that drapes in all the right places. She’s removed the blouse, as well, leaving just the black camisole top underneath. 

“Bernie.” It’s that same breathy use of her name that sends Bernie’s heart yo-yoing up to her throat and down to her gut. “Come in, do. I’ve told Jason you’re coming, but nothing more...yet.” 

She follows the instruction, then stands on the doormat, looking around, uncertain, while Serena closes the door. 

“I…” Serena leans in close to her ear. “I can’t…touch you…because if I do, I won’t stop. And Jason hates it when I burn the mince.” She sounds as fierce as she did before, in the office, when she gave Bernie the best, the most compelling reason to believe that her presence was still wanted. “But…” She stands back and looks Bernie up and down, eyes devouring what they see... 

Bernie can feel her knees weakening. “S..Serena, I…”

“Dr Bernie! Auntie Serena said you were coming!” Jason appears at the end of the hall, wearing an apron. “Auntie Serena, the pasta is nearly done and I’ve grated the parmesan. You should come and check.”

“Yes Jason.” Serena beams at Bernie. “Come on. You’ve never been inside…our home before, have you?” 

Bernie shakes her head. “No. Just…just that time I left you off, that’s all.” She wriggles out of her coat, and glances around. 

“Oh, sorry!” Serena catches her gaze. “Here, let me.” She grasps the jacket before Bernie can protest, and almost has the jiffy bag as well, but Bernie clings to it. Serena looks questioningly, but says nothing.

“That…that’s for…later.”

“It’s all or nothing with you, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Wrapping. Either you go all out, or not at all?”

“Well…these…weren’t exactly… I mean. I. Um. I’ll explain later. When we’re…”

“Auntie Serena, the mince is burning!” Jason’s voice comes from across the hall.

“Well stir it then!” Serena rolls her eyes, hangs Bernie’s coat up as they pass by the stand, and leads her into the kitchen. 

The room is so typical of Serena that Bernie can’t hold back her grin. Everything is perfect, stylish with a slight French country vibe. A large kitchen table is laid with beautiful precision – that will be Jason, she thinks – and colourful wine goblets, clearly hand-blown, at each place. Serena catches her eye.

“I got them in Prague a few years ago. Thought they’d go well with your Ukrainian…how do you pronounce it?”

“Fetească… They don’t grow Shiraz there, at least, not that I could find. But this is a specialty, apparently. And the taste…reminded me…” She stops short of saying “of you.” But the way Serena’s eyes light up suggest she’s taken Bernie’s meaning. 

“2001, it’s old.” 

“Best vintage, apparently.” 

“Do I have to do _all_ the cooking? It seems a bit unfair, considering I _am_ the injured one.” Jason interrupts.

“I’m sorry Jason. Here. You go and sit down. Bernie can help me carry things over.” 

Bernie nods, glancing around for somewhere to put her precious package. She tucks it behind a miniature replica of a familiar looking sculpture. Rodin, she thinks. 

Jason has moved to the table, his pinny carefully removed and tidied away. In short moments, they have the pans laid out, and Serena is dishing up. The sheer domesticity of it tugs at Bernie’s heart. Once they’ve all been served, Serena pours wine for themselves, and cranberry juice for Jason. 

“Well, here’s to…”

“…us?” Bernie murmurs, eyes never leaving Serena’s face. 

“Yes. Here’s to us. All of us. But also, here’s to Jason, for making sure there _is_ an ‘us’.” Serena raises her glass to him. 

“So you _are_ going to be a couple then? I knew it!” He sounds a mix of delighted and triumphant. 

“Yes, but Jason…”

“Is this another lecture Auntie Serena, because I want to eat my dinner before it gets cold and it’s going to be difficult with only one arm.”

Serena smiles and shakes her head. “It’s not a lecture, not at all. It’s just… I think Bernie and I would like to, to…” She glances across, eyebrow raised.

“To let other people know in our own time. At work. Is that ok with you Jason?”

“Of course it is. As long as you’re both ok, and I’m ok…”

“…the world can go round.” Serena finishes off what seems to be a well-beloved phrase between them, broadening Bernie’s smile of contentment as she hears it. “Yes. That’s all that matters.”

Bernie nods her agreement. “We wouldn’t want to do _anything_ that made you uncomfortable Jason.”

“Well then, you’re not to fight again. Because it made Auntie Serena frown, and that makes me uncomfortable.” Jason nods decisively, and makes a stab at his pasta. “I prefer spaghetti, but Auntie Serena said that because of my arm it would be better to have Fusilli tonight.”

“I promise your arm will feel a lot better very soon.” Bernie follows his action, and tucks in. 

“Will I be able to do press ups, army style?”

“Um, I…” She looks at Serena, who, for some reason, won’t meet her eye. “Well, I see no reason why not, when it’s fully healed… You’ll be doing them in no time.” 

“That’s good.” Jason sounds satisfied. “Because I couldn’t do them before.” He says it so blandly, with an utter deadpan face, that it’s only when Bernie catches Serena’s face that she realizes she’s been had.

“See Auntie Serena, I told you it was a good joke.”

“Yes, yes you did Jason. And you were right, _of course_.” Her shoulders shake. “You are a _dream_ to wind up Bernie.” Serena’s eyes sparkle, creased with humour. 

Bernie tilts her head, admitting her gullibility. “If only that were my worst failing.”

“Oh, it’s not a failing, it’s a joy.”

“I’ll take that as due warning.”

“Are we going to have dinner regularly then?” Jason has already half cleared his plate. “What kind of meals do you cook Dr Bernie…”

“…Bernie, please…”

“… _Bernie_? Because if we’re going to have dinner regularly, then it’s only fair that…”

“Jason! You can’t demand someone starts cooking the first time they come to dinner!”

“But I’m not, I’m only saying that…”

“Well Jason, I hate to disappoint you, but the best meals I cook come out of a brown paper bag.”

“Oh. That’s an odd place for them to come from.”

“I mean, they come from a take away.”

“I see. We get Fish and Chips every Thursday. Maybe you should eat with us on Thursdays then.”

“We’ll see.” Determined to change the subject, Bernie casts around. “Have you been watching much World’s Strongest Man lately?”

“Not since I started as a porter, because I’ve been quite tired after my shifts. But I told Auntie Serena, I’m going to go to my room to watch some tonight, because I think as walking wounded, I deserve to do something nice for myself.”

“That sounds like a very good idea.”

“…And it will give you two more time to…”

“…Yes, quite. Thank you Jason.” Serena blushes over her dimples, and Bernie can’t help thinking it’s quite the most adorable she’s ever seen her. 

“Relationships are very strange.” Jason eyes them both. “When I started going out with Celia, I wanted everyone to know, and I wanted lots of time with her…”

“It’s not that we don’t want that, Jason…” But Serena seems to lose the train of her thoughts, so Bernie tries to pick up.

“It’s just that…well, you’re quite right. We do have a lot to talk about. And the thing about people our age is, well. Sometimes we want to do that bit first, _before_ we tell the world. I know it seems strange, but sometimes life just isn’t that simple.”

“Life’s never simple.” Jason shakes his head glumly. “That’s why I like World’s Strongest Man. And Gladiator. You know where you are with them.”

“Oh, is Gladiator still running? My son Cameron used to love that show.”

“The original isn’t, but you can get it on the internet. I can write down the URL for him if you’d like?

“That would be very kind of you Jason.”

“Well, I’m finished. That was very nice Auntie Serena, except for the burnt bits. But I’m going to go to my room now, if you don’t mind.”

Bernie watches the emotions flicker across Serena’s face as he speaks. There’s no duplicity about Jason, she thinks: he says the first thing that crosses his mind. She really does find it reassuring, if a bit of a punch to the gut on occasion. 

“That’s fine Jason. Are you sure you don’t want to watch TV with us?”

“Quite sure.”

“Ok. And you will shout if you need a hand with changing? I don’t want you hurting your arm any more today.”

“Neither do I. I’ll get into my pyjamas now, so if I do need a hand I’ll let you know.” Jason pushes his chair in. “It’s lovely that you could come to dinner Bernie. I hope you’ll come regularly.”

She grins up at him. “Who knows, maybe…”

“Auntie Serena knows. She always knows.”

“Not everything Jason…” Serena shakes her head, her laughter sounding rueful.

“Can I have that in writing?”

“Yes, alright, you’ve made your mark as a comedian tonight. Go on.”

They hear his feet on the stairs before Bernie raises her eyes to Serena’s. “This is lovely. All of it.”

“Really?” That same, breathy surprise.

“Really. I… I missed you, _so_ much. But I also missed Jason. And being here… It’s like being part of a family.” As she says it, Bernie feels a desperate yearning. Some families are born, some are chosen. And this is the family she would choose, given half a chance. 

“I…wasn’t sure how you’d feel about spending time with him.”

“I really like Jason. He’s a good lad. And his heart’s in the right place.” 

“Yes, well. I’ll be keeping my keys under closer observation from now on.

“Or maybe I won’t give him cause to lock us up together?” 

“I should hope not!” There’s a glint in Serena’s eye that Bernie can’t quite place. “Though I can think of worse things…” Her hand reaches out to touch Bernie’s, but just before she makes contact, they’re interrupted.

“Auntie Serena! I need help!”

“Coming!” She quirks her head at Bernie. “All things in due course. D’you want to take the wine and glasses through to the sitting room? It’s the second door on the right as you go into the hall. I’ve got a fire lit in there. Thought it would be cosier…”

Bernie nods, smiling. As soon as Serena leaves the kitchen, she sets to clearing the table, rinsing off the dishes and finding space for them in the dishwasher. She doesn’t want to poke and pry, so there’s not much more she can do in the line of clearing up, but at least it’s something. By the time Serena comes back down, Bernie is ensconced on the luscious, deep sofa, staring into the fire, her little parcel beside her.


	3. iii

Serena pushes open the sitting room door, aware that the hinges don’t make a noise: Jason having complained, and then demanded she apply WD40 to them. The candles she lit before Bernie arrived are burning merrily, the fire in its grate is going well, and only the wall lights are on, leaving the room comfortable but not bright. Bernie has chosen the sofa opposite the fire, so she doesn’t even see Serena standing watching her. The back of her head suggests she’s contented, but not completely at ease. Her hand keeps straying to the mysterious jiffy bag, tapping at it. She lets out a small sigh.

“Everything ok? Thank you for doing the dishes.” Serena moves into the room, coming to stand beside her. 

“Oh! I…” Bernie looks up, eyes nervous but mouth smiling. “I didn’t hear you come downstairs… It seemed the least I could do.” She passes Serena her glass, and lifts her envelope to her lap. “I. I… didn’t know where you’d want to sit.”

Serena collapses down beside her. “As near to you as possible.” She doesn’t add _’to make sure you don’t go anywhere.’_ Tempting though it is. “So, what’s this then…?” She indicates the package. 

“I…” Bernie takes a breath, a deep one. And then another. Stares at her knees. “You… You asked why I didn’t reply…” She pauses, clearly searching for words.

“Yes…?” Serena can sense the waves of vulnerability emanating from her, so strong as to be almost tangible. Tries to inject as much gentleness, as much understanding – such as she can – into her voice. Turns her torso a little towards Bernie. 

“Well, I.” She swallows. “I… The truth is, Serena, I _did_. I did reply. I replied to the emails, and the texts. Once, I even replied to the letter I imagined you writing…” Bernie looks up at Serena – she seems to have hunched down in herself – eyes half lidded, lips pressed together. “I just… I… I couldn’t, I wasn’t sure… I didn’t know...” She stops herself, breathes again. “I couldn’t believe that you’d want to hear from me… _even_ when you did email.” Her hand is absentmindedly stroking the envelope. 

Understanding dawns on Serena. “But you kept the replies?”

“I…don’t know why.” Bernie looks abashed. “I mean…if…I’d…never have thought of giving them to you…so why…but, but…when you said. When you said ‘radio silence’ I just…” She laughs, hoarse, barking. “The irony struck me, because my thoughts were anything but silent. I just…”

“Couldn’t bring yourself to communicate?” The dryness is there, but Serena edges her shoulder closer, reaches out a hand. The last thing she wants is Bernie to think – or even imagine – that she’s still angry. Of course, _part of her probably is_ , a little voice says, but she shakes it away. This is no time for negativity. The damaged creature that is this woman she loves; who she _still_ loves, after all _this_ – is here, beside her, opening up. That’s enough to be getting on with.

“Never was my forte.” Bernie looks at her from under that fringe, brown eyes twinkling for the first time since dinner. 

“No, I suppose not.” She can feel her cheeks curving into dimples as she starts to laugh. “Oh Bernie...” Serena leans her head in, till their hair touches. 

The sudden action of the envelope being placed in her hands breaks her reverie. 

“Take it.” Bernie’s voice is firm, but low. “I…Please. You… You should have them. Before I…”

“Think better of it and throw them in the fire?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Do you _want_ me to read them?” Serena moves her head till she can look Bernie in the eye. To her surprise, the gaze she receives is steady in return.

“I… Yes. Yes, I do. I…” Bernie pauses, swallows, restarts. “I think I might be more coherent…or at least, communicative…in writing. You…” She smiles, that same, shy look that melts Serena’s heart every time. “You know how to say things when you need to, and…and I…hope…you’ll tell me what I…what I _need_ to hear…about…about how I fucked up.” A small gulp follows this acknowledgement. 

“Darling…” Serena pauses, wondering what she can say. Nothing, momentarily, in response to the fear that resounds in Bernie’s voice. She holds Bernie’s hand, compulsively stroking the soft skin over her ulnar artery with her thumb. 

“S..Serena.” This time it’s a whisper. 

“Yes?”

“I said I’d changed. And…and I believe I _have._ Changed… Because…even wanting to change, that’s a change in itself, isn’t it?” Bernie looks at her with full eyes. “I know I nearly ran again today, when I thought…I thought you couldn’t bear to be around me, wouldn’t work with me… I. I couldn’t…wouldn’t want to make your life more difficult than I already…”

“…Bernie?” Serena lifts her other hand to cup her cheek, uses her thumb to wipe away the trickle from Bernie’s eye. “Sshhh. You’re here now. We’re here. _Together._ That’s change enough to be going on with, hmm?” She watches Bernie nod, slowly, lip bitten and eyes winking back unshed tears. “You know what you want. I know what I want. And I think…we both want the same thing, yes?”

“Yes.” Bernie’s nod becomes firmer and her mouth pulls into a smile. “What was it you and Jason said? Some thing about the world…”

“…can go round. Yes.” Serena smiles. “And now it really can.” She takes a large sip of wine. “I should have said, this is really rather nice. I’m impressed.”

“I told you it reminded me of you…” 

“Drank rather a lot of it, did you?”

“You have no idea. And…a lot of those…letters…might have been written with its help…”

“In which case I should be doubly thankful.” Serena winks. “Shall we have a look, then?” 

“…Together?” Bernie sounds taken aback.

“I think so… But, if you’d rather not…?”

“No…no…” Shaking her head, Bernie seems to make her mind up about something. “I can…I want to.”

Serena smiles to herself, as she lets go of Bernie’s hand for the purpose of removing the pile of letters. Raises her eyebrows. There are a lot. 

“Well…maybe take a look at _some_ now… Because I have to say, _Ms Wolfe_ there are other… _aspects_ of handing over that I hope to return to this evening…” A warm sort of pleasure spreads throughout her abdomen as Bernie grins back, licking her lips. 

“That would be… _very_ …um…enriching…” 

Serena has to tear her eyes away, and back to the paperwork, otherwise none of it will be read any time soon – and most will probably end up on the floor, or crumpled underneath them. She picks up the topmost note, scribbled in Bernie’s telltale messy fist. Notices that it, and, as she flicks through, a number of the others, are quite short indeed, whilst still more are screeds of length.

***

Serena,  
I… I just want to say…to write…how much I miss you. Stupid, I know.  
I messed up. I know that too.  
I’m a coward.  
I’m sorry.  
Bernie

***

“You wrote this three days after you left?” Serena notes, looking at the date.

“Yes… That was…that was in Heathrow. Waiting to board and wishing I were brave enough to walk away. To…run back.” Bernie takes a gulp of wine. “I think…if only I’d had the courage…I’d have never even driven out of the hospital car park in the first place.”

Serena nods. One day, she thinks, rueful, she might understand the woman in front of her, the bravest surgeon she has ever known. Picks up the next letter.

***

Dear Serena,  
It’s been ten days now.  
Kyiv is cold, but sunny. The new unit is well underway. I’m there all hours. I wish…  
I wish you were here to help. We could make the work go so much faster together. You would understand what it is I’m trying to do so much better.  
Perhaps I just wish you were here.  
I miss you.  
B.

***

S,  
I thought I saw you today. As I was crossing the road. I could have sworn I saw you going into a coffee shop ahead of me, beside the hospital. All the staff use it. I thought for a moment, maybe you’d ignored me, and come to visit after all.  
But when I followed you in, it wasn’t you at all. I’m sure they laughed at the mad English surgeon who walked in and turned straight round again.  
I wish you would ignore me.  
B

***

“Oh really?” Serena smirks at Bernie as she lays that one aside. “I think I’ll keep that as written permission…” She’s gratified to see her comment raise a mirrored twinkle.

“Context is everything, Ms Campbell.”

“Damn, does that mean I can’t quote you when we’re in theatre?”

“As far as I was aware, I always give in to you in there!” Bernie humphs, but her grin belies her. 

Serena’s eyes are drawn back to the pile on her knee.

***

S,  
I spent today wondering what you were doing. What operations you’ve performed; who with, how they turned out… How much paperwork is stacking up and whether you think of me at all, when you’re in the office.  
My new office is tidy. I’ve really tried to keep it the way you would. Maybe in the hopes that you might walk in, and be surprised.  
It was a bit of a problem, actually, all this thinking of you today. I swear the nursing staff all think I’m deaf as well as stupid, as they had to repeat everything they said in Ukrainian at least three times.  
Дурний. Durnyy. (That’s ‘stupid’ in Ukrainian. I think if you look in a dictionary, there will be a picture of my face pasted in by a frustrated medic. Possibly by me.)  
I wonder have I even crossed your mind. I don’t know whether to hope I have – or not.  
B

***

S,  
I rushed into the office this morning thinking I might have a letter from you. I don’t know why.  
Actually I do. I dreamt that that you’d written to me, and it was…so real. I dreamt that you forgave me.  
That should have been the tip off that it was a dream, really, shouldn’t it?  
Mostly I just dream of you ignoring me.  
Which you have every right to do. And I wish I could ignore me. You’d think, for someone so talented in ignoring anything that isn’t hard medical fact, that I could.  
Turns out that’s another thing I’m shit at.  
I’m sorry, this has got quite maudlin. I made the mistake of drinking Vodka tonight, instead of Fetească. (That’s Shiraz to you. Or the next best thing.)  
B

***

Dear Serena,  
I’m actually going to send this, I’ve told myself.  
How is everyone? How’s Fletch?  
How are you, Serena?  
(How can I even ask that, God! After my behaviour.)  
I hope you’re ok. (But part of me doesn’t, because if you’re ok, then that means you’re over me, and if you’re over me then maybe I was imagining it all along and even if I wasn’t I’m certainly on a lost cause. Forget it Wolfe, you’re definitely on a lost cause.)  
I’m sorry.  
I really am.  
I thought I missed you before.  
Now it’s like this hole, this. Awful. Ache. Emptiness.  
I’m so lonely here without you.  
And I know it’s my own damn fault.  
How could I not know, with that little voice constantly telling me; I mean it never shuts up.  
Typical Bernie, fucked it up again, destroyed another friendship.  
I don’t know what’s worse, destroying our friendship that is, or destroying our relationship that could have been.  
I’m clearly not going to send this, am I?  
B

***

Serena,  
I’ve made up my mind.  
I’m going to work every hour possible – which I’m pretty much doing already –  
with the aim of finishing this contract as soon as is humanely possible.  
I need to be back in Holby.  
On AAU.  
With you.  
Bernie

***

“What went wrong with that idea?” Serena looks to Bernie, before taking a mouthful of wine.

“Well, nothing – at first. It’s amazing how much work you get through when avoiding yourself.”

“But then?”

Bernie sighs. “Fear?”

Serena picks out another from within the pile.

***

Dear Serena,  
I can’t sleep. I’ve spent the last five nights tossing and turning, and after four hours of the same tonight, I thought I’d get up. I have to get ready for work in an hour anyway. We’re nearly finished.  
I’m scared, Serena.  
What if I come home and you don’t want to know me? What if you’ve moved on? I could hardly blame you. I mean, I’m not exactly your usual type. And God knows you deserve better. How or why you could possibly be inclined to hold on for me, after what I’ve put you through.  
And I don’t know if that’s worse than the way I’ve been feeling here without you. At least this way I can imagine that maybe, just maybe, you might think of me.  
I might stay on a bit after all. I mean, I wouldn’t stay longer than I was originally meant to. But you don’t know – because I’m such a bloody coward that I can’t even bring myself to post any of these – that I was intending to come home sooner. And I suppose because I’ve not heard from you – not that I’ve deserved to, in the slightest – I can assume that you have moved on. Silence isn’t golden, whatever they say. It echoes around my skull, the words, the accusations banging off the walls and oh Serena I am sorry. I am sorry I did this to you. I am sorry I did this to us. But I just don’t know how to make it right anymore. I don’t even know if it’s possible, and I really don’t know how I can live with myself if it’s not.  
B

***

S,  
I got your note.  
You were right to move on.  
I’m sorry.  
I’ll stay.  
B

***

Serena glances at Bernie, an unspoken question on her lips.

“I…That was…” Bernie gulps. “That was when I imagined you writing to me. I was… I don’t know. Trying to practice how I’d respond?” 

Shaking her head, Serena leans in till their shoulders meet, warm and comforting. Glances to the next note.

***

S,  
I miss your voice.  
I miss you.  
B

***

Serena,  
I got your email today.  
~~I don’t know what to say.~~  
I’m. Relieved? I don’t know.  
At least now I know where you stand.

I heard it in your voice. I could see you, sitting at your desk. At the end of the day, glass of wine in hand; a rebel doesn’t change her spots just because she’s been let down by the biggest bloody idiotic coward of the century. It made me ache (even more than usual) to read it. And I did read it. Again and again and again. To try and work out was there any chance that you might mean you missed me. That you wanted me back. Not because you were sick of locums, though maybe you are. But that you actually wanted me. 

And I can’t find it. 

It feels worse than I thought.  
Bernie

***

Serena stops, at this point, to brush away the tears that threaten to fall on these precious pages. Reaches out a hand to Bernie’s knee, grasping for her fingers.

“No… Serena, I, I didn’t mean for this…” Now Bernie turns herself towards Serena, eyes wide, horrified. “I didn’t mean, I didn’t want… Please, don’t cry. Don’t. Not over my…”

“Don’t…don’t _ever_ think that I didn’t miss you, Bernie. That there wasn’t a moment where I didn’t think about you, or wonder how you were, or whether you were thinking of me, of us. And…” Serena can hear the fierceness in her own voice as she battles out the tears. “Don’t ever think I don’t want you. Ever.” She fumbles with the remaining papers.

Bernie tries to grab the one on top. “You…probably shouldn’t read that one.”

“Why?”

“I was…angry. I had no right to be.”

Serena picks the note up. Mercifully, it is short.

***

Got your text.  
I’m sure you did mean what you said. You don’t need to remind me.  
I know I deserve to hurt after what I did to you, running out like that.  
I just.  
I didn’t know it could feel like this.  
The hospital can go hang. It survived without me before. It can again.  
B

***

S.  
I’m sorry. I’m beginning to wonder… to hope (?) that I might have mis-understood your text.  
I can’t ask you to forgive me. I don’t deserve that.  
But. Maybe.  
Maybe you might let me back one day.  
B

***

S.  
It’s Bonfire Night.  
I never used to think of it when I was on duty. Just another night. We had enough fireworks of our own to deal with. Marcus would take the kids out if I was at home. I’d curl up with earphones and a glass of something.  
But tonight I found myself wishing I could share it with you. Even just as colleagues.  
And then I got your text.  
Nothing’s ok and yet everything is because you asked.  
And you sent a kiss.  
You never sent a kiss before. Not even before I ran.  
I’ve written out my notice to hand in tomorrow morning. I hope I’m doing the right thing.  
I hope I can dare.  
B

***

S,  
I did it. I handed in my notice. It will be three weeks. Far too long. And yet.  
What if I’m wrong? What if I’m riding high on hope and missing you and loneliness?  
What if I run again?

I need to change.  
I know that.  
~~I am going to change.~~  
I have changed. 

I never want to feel this way again.  
I never want to be away from _you_ again.  Ever.

I’ve never felt like this before.  
I’ve been lonely before, but not like this.  
I’ve missed people before, but never like this.  
It’s the most horrible, awful feeling, and I think I only realized how horrendous it has been when I handed in that small piece of paper and I felt… ecstatic.  
Even though I’m so unsure.  
So full of hope but so damned scared.

At least now it’s just a matter of time, and then I’ll know for definite.  
But please, Serena. Please.  
Don’t let me have let you go.  
Not now.  
Not now I understand what I want.  
Who I want.

Yours,  
Bx

***

I got your text.  
I’m coming, as soon as I can.  
I feel like I’m walking on air.  
Or water, maybe.  
Perilous, but glorious.  
I’m going to see you again.  
Soon.  
(Not soon enough but that damned notice has to be worked.)  
I miss you too.  
So much.  
Love, B

***

Serena sits in silence, holding the last note, fingers tracing the words; especially the last line. Would it have been better to receive all these, instead of radio silence? Well obviously. And yet. She’d been so focused on her own journey, and her own personal hell, that, although she’d thought of Bernie – all the _bloody_ time – she hadn’t really considered how _she_ was or wasn’t dealing with the situation. It was so easy to forget, in her absence, that Bernie had about as much of a capacity of communicating outside of Theatre as a one under had a chance of surviving. What was it her dad used to say? And suddenly she can hear his voice, as he sat her on his knee, even when she was years too old for such an action. _‘What’s for you won’t go past you, darling girl. Never forget that.’_ Absent-mindedly, she realizes she’s fingering his necklace.

Bernie breaks the reverie. “Serena…? Are you…?”

She looks over at Bernie, concern written over every inch, and smiles; her truest expression yet today. “Very much so. Thank you. For trusting me. For being so brave.”

“You must be joking!” Bernie laughs, utterly disbelieving. 

“I mean it. I… Understand now. Far more than I did before.” Serena lays the letters aside. “And you have shared something so precious with me, when you were clearly so scared that I would throw it all back at you. That _is_ brave.” She raises her hands to Bernie’s face, stroking the tearstains. “ _You_ are brave… A fool too, maybe, but you’re _my_ courageous fool.” Serena grins at the responses that cross Bernie’s face in quick succession, from relief to hilarity, to delight, to longing… “But now… I’m tired of talking.” She leans in, relishing Bernie’s gasp as their lips meet.


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note, this does become explicit pretty quickly. So, if you shouldn't be reading it, for whatever reason - don't!

For a moment, Bernie can’t work out what’s different. Of course, her brain isn’t entirely functioning – something to do with her lips being where they belong; tight to Serena’s. But then the penny drops. The weight; that huge, engulfing, leaden sense of utter disaster that has rested in her stomach and emanated outwards, for so long…is gone. Lifted, evaporated, excised – she’s not sure which, but it is no longer there; not her constant companion any more. She feels Serena’s hand pull her head closer still, till their noses wrinkle against each other, relishes the sensation of being held so tightly. Daring, then, Bernie slides her tongue into Serena’s mouth, is emboldened by the moan this elicits. 

Perhaps it’s because she’s not expecting it; or perhaps the emotion of the day has weakened her – but the next thing Bernie realizes, she’s almost horizontal on the sofa, with Serena - gorgeous, glorious Serena; _her_ Serena, she thinks with a giddy rush – on top of her, hands everywhere, fiercer even than before; grasping, stroking, short-cut nails just grazing skin that has been untouched in so long. Without intending to, she gives a small cry when Serena’s lips part from hers, gasps in want. 

“I believe it’s time for bed… After all, I _did_ tell Ric there was a lot of handing over to be done.” Serena smirks down at her. “Maybe I had a different interpretation in mind to the one I gave him…”

Bernie wants to reply, she really does – but somehow, Serena has stolen all the words from her mouth. Instead, she nods, before lifting her head to find those lips and regain her speech again. Now she has found a way of communicating that takes no effort at all. 

Serena has to pull herself apart a second time. “Come on Major, chop chop!” 

Bernie groans in longing as Serena clambers off her, and stands up. She offers her hands down, and Bernie takes them gratefully. 

“We should…” Serena is distracted as Bernie kisses her; lips, then cheek, then ear lobe. “We should blow the candles out.” She edges their bodies over to the first, leans down to suit actions to words; with difficulty, as Bernie traces her tongue down Serena’s neck. “It would…be quicker…if…if…ahhh…” She pulls herself up and into Bernie’s waiting arms. “It would be quicker if we _shared_ the work, you know. The sooner it’s done, the sooner we get upstairs…” 

Bernie pouts, but can’t go against those twinkling eyes, so full of promise and suggestion. She drops her hands from Serena’s waist and near runs across the room to blow out the selection of candles on the sideboard. Turns back in time to see Serena placing a fireguard in front of the still glowing embers. They meet half way to the door, and stumble towards it, bodies interlocked, mouths searching, searing in their need. 

They don’t even make it across the hall before Bernie stumbles, her legs weak from the touch of Serena’s fingertips on her midriff. 

“Ssshhhhh!” Bernie hisses as Serena cackles. “Don’t want to…to…disturb Jason!”

“He’s got his earphones on, I promise.”

Bernie looks at her in surprise.

“He always does. Prefers it that way apparently. Now, do I have to carry you?” Serena tightens her grasp round Bernie’s waist. It’s enough to curl Bernie into her, to bring their mouths together once again, and they stagger backwards until Bernie feels herself leaning against the far wall, Serena pushed hot and hard into her, leg between legs, hip pressing into her pelvic bone. She’s not even sure which of them it is who groans. 

It’s all they can do to get up the stairs.

“Next…next time we stay at mine. Bedroom is…nearer.” Bernie mumbles as they reach the landing, and Serena pauses to sweep a hand deeper underneath the black shirt Bernie had swapped back into. 

“Next time you can stay in scrubs…easier to touch you…” Serena counters, an eyebrow cocked. 

“But where would be the fun in that?” Bernie glances at her with a grin, brushing her fringe out of her eyes. 

“Ohhhoho, fun you say?” Serena’s hands move to the buttons, a little forcefully, as the first flies off and pings on the glass of a Grandfather clock. “…Ooops… S..sorry!” She doesn’t sound very convincing. 

Serena isn’t wearing anything with buttons to retaliate with, so Bernie settles with slipping both hands under the waistband of her trousers, fingers edging down over silk, to grasp her buttocks, eliciting a moan from somewhere deep within. 

“Bedroom, _now._ ” She growls.

Over the sound of Serena’s breathy gasps, and Bernie’s own heartbeat, she hears a click.

“Oh! Are you going to share Auntie Serena’s bed? You’re quite noisy coming upstairs, aren’t you? Auntie Serena isn’t usually _that_ loud, even after a whole bottle of wine to herself.”

Bernie closes her eyes in disbelief. Bites her lip. Hard. Maybe this is a hallucination brought on by desperate need to have her fingers inside Serena. No, Christ no, don’t think of that while… She opens one eye and risks a glance at Serena, ruby red and stammering. Nearly chokes trying to hold back mortified laughter. 

“J…ja..jason…I…” 

“It’s alright Auntie Serena, I _quite_ understand…”

Bernie raises her eyebrows to what feels like her scalp. 

“…I just thought you might not know how noisy you were being. I’m going to put my TV volume up to twenty two.”

“I…I…”

“And I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Behind her, Bernie hears the door click again. She dares another glance at Serena.

“Did…did that…really…just...?”

Apparently Serena is lost for words, only managing to nod mutely. She gestures towards a door directly above the sitting room. 

“At…least it’s as far away from his room as possible?” Bernie mutters, pushing Serena, who appears to have lost the ability to move, in that general direction. 

They don’t speak again until the bedroom door is shut behind them. As Serena leans weakly back on the door to click the handle lock in place, Bernie takes the opportunity to glance around. Once again, what she sees doesn’t disappoint; the pristine room speaks of elegant style and luxury. An old mahogany bed glows warm in dying firelight; still more candles flicker on the mantelpiece; a damask covered standard lamp stands in the far corner – there are no other lights on, and Serena doesn’t bother flicking the switch. Curtains that seem to match the lamp drape to the floor. The scent of Serena; all Dior and almond and rose body butter mixed with newly blow-dried hair pervades everything. 

“You ok?” Bernie turns to cuddle Serena, holds her close, captivated by her giggles. 

“I….I…can’t believe that just…happened…” Serena chokes, one hand rising to stroke Bernie’s neck. 

“He really has a way with words, doesn’t he?” 

“Mhmmm.” But Serena’s lips are too busy, brushing against Bernie’s jawline, her neck; her hand pushing the edge of shirt fabric aside. 

“S..serena…shall we…um…take this off before you bust any more buttons?” Bernie is caught between longing and laughter, but she does actually quite like the shirt – and is less than useless with a needle and thread. Serena looks up at her, dark eyes gleaming, and Bernie has to stop herself from wishing Serena would just rip the fabric off her. 

“Okay then.” Serena stands back, the distance bringing out a low growl in Bernie. “I promise I’ll be…careful.” 

With intense precision, she slowly pops the lowest surviving button, her eyes never leaving Bernie’s face. Moves to the next, smile flickering on her cheeks as Bernie trembles in anticipation. It’s only when she gets to the third that it becomes all too much, and Serena, no master of control, spreads her hands in under the cotton once again. Bernie takes that as an invitation to pull her close once more, head dipping to kiss and lick and bite at Serena’s neck. 

“Ms _Wolfe_ , just…just…be… Oh! …careful…where you put those… Ahhhh… _teeth_." Serena groans before pulling herself away; Bernie finds her lips kissing air instead of skin. “Let’s…finish the job in hand…?” She returns her fingers to the buttons, unsteady fumbling caused by haste. 

In moments, the shirt lies on the floor behind them, and Bernie stands facing Serena, still fully clothed; in nothing but the nicest black bra she could find in a hurried search of her underwear drawer, and her jeans. It’s a strange kind of vulnerability, she thinks, because she feels utterly _safe_. And yet, those deep brown eyes are devouring every inch of her, lips licked and body trembling. Serena Campbell could eat her alive, but it would be a fearless death. 

Serena shrugs her cardigan off, and pulls Bernie across to the bed, hands never leaving the soft curve of her back. Only the soft barrier of the mattress gives them pause, and Bernie reaches out to stroke a finger along Serena’s shoulder, hooking it round the strap of her camisole. 

But Serena has other ideas, as her hands stretch down between Bernie’s hips and the small give of her jeans. 

“These need to come off.” It’s an order, and Bernie can’t help herself but obey; drops her hands to fidget the button and zip, fingers desperate as she pushes the trousers down her legs. She might, she thinks, take to wearing looser trousers when spending time with Serena…these take far too much effort to remove in a rush. 

Serena does nothing to help. In fact, she takes a step back and watches; the cant of her head raising heat in Bernie’s cunt - she can feel her knickers already damp through with desire. 

Trousers off, Bernie stands again, mismatched underwear and trembling fingers, heart racing, breath shallow. 

“Bernie.” The way Serena’s tongue toys with her name near sends her to her knees. “I… Need you.” 

There’s no verbal answer to that, but to step across to her, lips on lips, hands everywhere; trousers pushed down, camisole pulled off. Before she knows it, Serena has edged them backwards, onto the bed, and is once again on top of her, eyes glowing, lips parted. Only now, this is a Serena she has never seen before; a Serena who is in her element, ravishing in only a silk and lace bra and matching pants; a Serena who knows exactly what she wants and has _every_ intention of getting it. 

Of course Serena would relish sex, Bernie thinks to herself – in her last coherent thought – a more sensual person she’s never met. _Of course_ that would be woven within her, on every level. But then Serena’s fingers make contact with her breasts, brushing away the plain fabric of her bra; one hand snaking round to unclasp it. 

“This needs off.”

“I…could…say the same…” Bernie breathes as she reaches over Serena’s back. “Even though it is… _rather lovely_. The fabric falls away and Bernie’s hands catch Serena’s breasts as they escape. Such _soft_ skin; her thumb strokes over one aureole and then the other, before she lifts her head to kiss, lick, suck. Somewhere in the back of her head she can hear Serena moan, and nearly comes then and there. 

“Touch me!” 

It’s another command, and Bernie needs no second bidding; hands stroking down Serena’s midriff, around the curves of her waist and tummy, delighting in the delicate skin she finds. Her lips never leave Serena’s breasts, but Bernie’s eyes, through the mess of her fringe, search out Serena’s face, to watch her expression as she reaches lower still, pushing at the elastic around her hips.

An eternity of a moment later, and finally one hand is cupping dark, damp curls, the other stroking Serena’s inside thigh from behind. Before she even slips a finger inside, Bernie feels Serena drip on to her, and gasps in expectation. She yearns to taste her, but that’s not what Serena asked for. She slides first two, then three fingers in, luxuriating in the slick welcome and the deep cry of delight that rings about her ears. 

They find their rhythm with ease, Serena falling closer to Bernie, one hand raising her chin till their mouths meet, the other edging down, fingertips curling into her own heat, making Bernie whimper in expectation. The sensation of Serena’s feather light touch on her clit, before entering her cunt with two fingers that are far more expert than Bernie could have dreamt of, is enough to bring her almost to the hilt. 

“You…you…don’t imagine…I…didn’t…think…of you… _every_ night…?” Serena whispers, panting, in her ear, a devilish grin reaching her eyes as Bernie feels her own widen in shock. “And…what…else could I…do…with such thoughts?” She dips her mouth to Bernie’s, stealing the moan from her lips. 

Bernie can feel her orgasm moments before it starts, rolling high on a crested wave; it doesn’t take much to bring Serena there as well, and in that liminal moment, eyes wide, bodies holding on, they stare at each other. And then, crashing, overwhelming, skin against skin, moans and cries intertwined till Bernie doesn’t even know which has come from her and which from Serena, except that together they sound like heaven, and her hand, her fingers, her palm are covered in Serena, and she keeps coming, with each touch to her clit, to her vulva… And then, Serena, wordless, pulls at her arm until there is nothing between them but wet curls, and she cants her hips just so until Bernie thinks – no, she knows – that the luxurious, soft, liquid skin meeting her own clit for a painfully brief moment, is Serena’s own; she doesn’t even recognize her voice as she cries out. 

Afterwards – and Bernie thinks, it could be hours or even days - Serena flops beside her, hand lazily stroking Bernie’s forehead, her cheek; flicking hair out of the way, dropping soft kisses to her nose, her lips, her chin. 

“Stepney.” Bernie manages to stammer.

“Ex…cuse me?”

“Stepney. There… There must have been…” 

Serena’s delighted laugh cuts her off. “I promise you there wasn’t.”

“B..b..but…”

“Like I said.” Serena whispers in her ear, her lips tickling the edge of Bernie’s cheek. “I had a lot of thinking time… And it’s not like I don’t know what _I_ like…it didn’t take that much of a stretch of the imagination…though perhaps it was the _best_ aspect of…” She doesn’t need to say it, and Bernie mentally thanks her for that, before her mind is overwhelmed by the image of Serena, here in this bed, lonely hands searching for some semblance of the experience they’ve just shared. The very thought makes her squirm.

“Oh yes…? And tell me, _Ms Campbell_ , was there anything _else_ you came up with during that time… It seems to me you’ve been rather… _fruitful_ in your imaginings. 

Serena twinkles at her, their noses touching, lips millimeters apart, though Bernie can just see her dimples deepening. 

“We…ell” she murmurs… “I…did think a lot about what your tongue might feel like…”


End file.
